


Love is Watching Someone Die

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she’d taken it she would have martyred herself, and he was no God. Either way, someone was going down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is Watching Someone Die

_“And I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose  
Than to have never lain beside at all”_

_What Sarah Said, Death Cab for Cutie_

“Are you crazy?!”

Her voice rings loud in your ears, a desperate edge to it and a sob catching at the end. You don’t answer, instead burying your face between her neck and shoulder and taking a deep shuddering breath. You can feel the warm wet blood sticking your sweater to your abdomen, probably soaking her Godhood as well. There hadn’t been time to bandage or bind the wound, and though she holds you tightly you still feel angry spurts welling up every time you’re jostled.

“What is _wrong_ with you?! Did you forget you weren’t a fucking God, you idiot?!”

You try to mumble that being a God wouldn’t have helped; martyring yourself like that would kill you anyway. Your voice is muffled against her collarbone and thick with blood and all that escapes from your lips is “martyr dead”.

She doesn’t say anything more beyond the occasional curse. Instead, you hear nothing but sniffling and sobbing and wish you had the strength to lift your head to see if she really is crying for you. Maybe if she was you could wipe away her tears—but you’d just get blood on her face and you think if she had to choose she would probably prefer to have a face covered in saline as opposed to plasma. The thought was romantic though, right?

You remind yourself that your top priority should be not bleeding out, and romancing the crying Goddess hauling you to safety in her arms would not only be inappropriate but probably doomed to failure.

You try to adjust yourself in her arms so you’re not bouncing up and down with every step but you lack the strength. You won’t ask her to fly—you know she’s expended far too much energy because otherwise wouldn’t she have made you smaller and easier to carry?

You feel her slowing down and think about how unfair this whole situation is.

She’d gone to take the bullets for you and you almost couldn’t believe it. You weren’t a God, like she was. You weren’t strong or important, like her. Martyring herself for you was the stupidest decision she could have ever made, and yet she was fully prepared to make it, arms outstretched and eyes blazing.

You couldn’t let her do that.

You had shoved her aside at the last possible moment, and the nearest bullet to her only grazed her arm, while many, many more  opened big red holes in your stomach. It was your good fortune that trolls are built thicker and tougher than humans, and your internal organs weren’t pierced, but with so many wounds to bleed from, you know you aren’t long this world.

She had screamed your name.

You feel cold stone against your bag, chilling you through your sweater, and you repress a shudder. You open your eyes and find green ones staring back at you, overflowing with tears. Her big teeth are biting down on chapped and bleeding lips and she’s shaking. You can’t tell if she’s angry or frightened and you decide it’s probably both.

Your eyes flutter closed unintentionally and you hear a gasp, followed closely after by the ripping of fabric. Then everything fades away. You sleep dreamlessly and uncomfortably and wake to find her still leaning over you, binding your wounds with shreds of her ruined Godhood. You strain your neck to examine the bloody pile beside your feet, confused for a moment and wondering where all of that bloody shrapnel came from, and then you realize it all came out of you.

You feel weaker than you’ve ever felt. You cough up red trying to say something to her and she quickly puts a finger to your lips, eyes frantically examining your face. You weren’t aware humans could produce that much saline.

“Jade,” you breathe around her finger. She furrows her brow and pushes it harder against her lips and you wonder why she doesn’t just tell you to shut up.

“Stop it, Jade, just . . .”

You can’t form the words to tell her how pointless this is—to tell her that she should be out there fighting with everyone else, not vainly doctoring a doomed troll. She won’t have it.

“No,” she says and you realize why she wasn’t talking before; her voice is scratchy from screaming and shaking with sobs. “No, Karkat, I’m not going to stop. I’m going to fix you so shut the fuck up and let me.”

You try to roll your eyes, because she’s being an idiot.

“It’s not goi-“

_“SHUT UP!”_

Her voice is breaking all over the place and she’s shaking more than ever.

“It’s not f-fair. Rose and- and Dave got three years with Kanaya and Terezi—I’m not going to let you leave after a w-week. You can’t j-just—“

Whatever you can’t do, you’re not going to find out. Words have failed her as she crawls over you, laying her head down on your chest while trying not to touch your wounds. Your body shakes with her sobbing. You gather all of the strength in your body to reach up your arm and place your hand on her head, and she stills.

“You’d get annoyed with me,” you say, forcing the air up through your bloodied teeth, “after . . . after that long.”

“I waited three y-y-years,” she cries, fingers digging into your ruined sweater, “three years to see you. I didn’t wait three years just to watch you d-d-“

She can’t say it. You can’t either, but you know what’s happening.

“Dumbass,” you grumble, clumsily stroking her hair. You can’t think of anything to follow that with, with the exception of the truth.

“You know . . . since I guess it’s up to current me to finally tell you this . . .”

Her body stiffens, but she doesn’t look up.

“I’m . . . I love-“

A coughing fit takes you, but you think she got the message. Her head slowly raises, and her green eyes are finally dry of tears. She says your name and you try to force something like a smile.

“Sorry,” you say, and her brow furrows, “not for _that-_ I mean . . . I guess everything. Here’s your real, current-Karkat apology, Jade. Sorry for all the shit I put you through.”

“Shut up,” she says again, voice far softer than the last time as she raises a hand to brush your hair away from your eyes. She doesn’t say it, but it doesn’t really need saying; she doesn’t care anymore about those things.

“I mean,” and you can’t keep yourself from rambling, even at the brink of death, “I guess I’m not sorry too much because if I hadn’t been a giant bile-slobbering asshole I wouldn’t have met you. I am sorry about this though, kind of . . . not sorry that I saved you but . . . making you cry.”

“I could’ve taken it-“

“Yeah and gone out like a big . . . big fucking hero.”

The world is going dark and fuzzy around the edges and you think she can tell. The hand clutching your sweater grips tighter and the tears start up again. You hear her beg you not to go.

“This sucks,” you grumble, trying to make her laugh. It doesn’t work.

“Thanks, Jade.”

“For what?”

“For being . . . being here until-“

“Don’t you dare--Karkat don’t you dare call this the end!”

You try to laugh, because what the fuck else can you even call it? It comes out like a wheeze.

She asks you why. You don’t have the strength left to be an insufferable smartass and ask “why what”.

“Told you why.”

“Shut up.”

“You asked.”

She’s stroking your cheek and you lean into her hand, a weak smile on your face. It feels nice, you think, as her heart beats frantically against your chest. Being so close to her feels nice.

She leans down, placing her forehead against yours and screwing her eyes shut. She begs you softly, over and over, to stay with her and God, what you wouldn’t give to have that option. You’re barely hanging on as it is.

Reaching your head up to kiss her would be hells of inappropriate—she’s practically grieving over you already, and taking advantage of that would be the douchiest move in the history of grublicking douchebags. It would be nice to die knowing your feelings are reciprocated or at least with a pity kiss, but you think you’re okay with dying with your feelings unrequited as long as she’s by your side.

She pushes your hair back and kisses your forehead and her lips arm warm and her tears are hot against your clammy skin. Everything’s going dark and your body is going numb and she presses herself closer to you and sobs into your sweater again. You weakly stroke her hair and stare up at the ceiling and a few tears of your own leak out but you’re okay.

She’s here.

You told her.

You’re okay.

“Karkat?”

You’re okay.

_“So who’s gonna watch you die?”_


End file.
